


We Are Real

by jscribbles



Series: 15x18 DESTIEL IS CANON MOTHERFUCKERSSSSS [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15.18 coda, DESTIEL IS REAL MOTHERFUCKERS, Destiel is canon, Fluff, Kissing, LONG LIVE THESE IDIOTS IN LOVE, M/M, Romance, Smut, Spoilers for Episode: s15e18 Despair, WE ARE REAL, inappropriate use of coconut oil, post 15x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: Dean hadn't kissed him yet.But they were alone now, and free.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: 15x18 DESTIEL IS CANON MOTHERFUCKERSSSSS [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011012
Comments: 30
Kudos: 386
Collections: SPN Finale "Destiel is CANON" Collection





	We Are Real

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little smutty follow up to my 15x18 coda titled [I'll Go With You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446713). Please check it out first if you want, it has some plotty things and a sappy reunion--although this is readable without the coda if you just want smut and smooches.
> 
> Thank you so much to EllenOfOz for doing a beta read of this. <3 I appreciate you so much! Please go check out her coda ([The First Stage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451522)) for 15x18 as well!

After defeating Chuck, restoring balance and autonomy to the universe, and saving the people they loved, it turned out, freedom was weirdly...not different.

The bunker still buzzed when it was too quiet and the kitchen sink dripped. Absolutely nothing had changed about the bunker or the way they felt as people, other than the knowledge that there was no one pulling their marionette strings and they were no longer characters in a fucked up macabre Truman Show.

Of course, Castiel was alive again. Returned from the Empty. Human. Still, apparently, in love. 

And when Dean had dropped to his knees and confessed his reciprocated feelings, Dean supposed that felt kinda different than usual.

Who the fuck was he kidding; the world was the same but Dean felt entirely changed. Colours looked brighter, smells were amplified, and his entire world was vibrating around one man standing in the kitchen, wearing a trenchcoat and a blue tie and an unsure, coy expression on his face.

“I ate,” Castiel said bluntly, gesturing over to the pot of cooling soup on the stove that Sam had made for everyone earlier. “Like you told me to.”

 _It’s because I love you._ Dean stopped in the middle of the kitchen, giving the pot an absent-minded glance and he nodded vaguely, gesturing at it before sliding his hands into his pockets. “It’s because you gotta eat now, man. Can’t have you dying of starvation.”

They stared at each other. Cas dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. 

Dean’s hands began to sweat in his pockets. It’d only been an hour or two since he wept his emotional love confession into the stomach of Cas’ white dress shirt. A patch of tears was still kind of wet on the blue tie, just at the bottom. 

Cas broke the silence first. He scratched at his stubble and swallowed, his throat bobbing. Roughly; “Should we...talk?”

That sounded scary. Frightened nerves writhed in Dean’s stomach for a moment, but then Cas exhaled through his nose, flashing Dean a crooked, shy smile and the nerves unravelled into a warmth.

He stepped towards Cas.

“We can talk later,” Dean replied simply, returning the smile. He stepped towards Cas. “We have the rest of our lives to talk. Tons of time. I just…”

Castiel licked his lips; Dean noticed immediately because he was staring at them. 

They hadn’t kissed yet. They’d barely touched since Cas had gotten back, barely touched after the initial embrace. Dean’d brushed his nose against Cas’ while promising a new beginning...but Sam and Eileen had been right there.

“We don’t have to...talk right now,” Castiel said, sounding a bit breathless. His eyes widened and Dean saw him roll his fingers into fists, his thumb kneading into the side of his knuckles. “We can do something else. Anything you want.”

Again, Dean stepped closer. Barely a foot away.

Good god (the abstract idea, not the douchebag), he was doing this.

“Can I…” Dean tugged a hand gently from his pocket, gesturing it at Cas as if the loose hand movement meant something substantial. But he was staring at Cas’ lips still and Cas’ tongue swiped out again in response. “...If you’re cool with it.”

 _If you’re cool with it_. Castiel had gone to super-hell for him. He was pretty sure Cas was cool with a little kissing.

The angel nodded.

Although, when Dean’s footsteps moved closer, thunking quietly over the floor, Castiel stepped back, the edge of the kitchen table hitting the back of his thighs. Dean wasn’t sure why he’d backed away, but his face was nervous—shy, even, if the uncertainty and shine in his eyes was any indication. Those blue orbs were lined in thick lashes that held fast, eyes wide as Dean noticed Cas’ gaze jump across his face, but rest on Dean’s lips in the end.

“I’ve imagined this moment so many times,” Castiel murmured, his voice just barely above a hum. Dean watched his tongue swipe out to dart his lips. “So many ways.”

Nervous energy—like a supernova, building and rumbling in his chest, ready to explode—rippled through his limbs. “Me too,” Dean admitted to Castiel, and for the first time, to himself. 

Dreams, imaginings, fantasies—painful, agonizing longing. He’d pictured this so many ways in his head but they never felt right, never felt attainable, never felt real. It used to hurt to imagine this because he’d never believed it was in the cards.

Their toes touched, scuffed worn brown steel-toes against sun-bleached toes of practical black leather boots. The hems of Castiel’s trenchcoat brushed Dean’s jeans, tickling the tops of his knees. 

Castiel was breathing audibly, taking breaths Dean figured he probably wasn’t used to taking. And Dean was breathing in sync--it helped process the rush of the moment, the monumental shared high of _we finally get this, this is real—_

_We are real._

Dean leaned in and he saw Cas’ hands go back, curl around the bottom of the table edge—bracing himself.

Needing to brace himself, too, Dean raised his hands and held them to Cas’ face, an inch of air separating them. For a moment, they hovered their on either side of the face he had burned into the back of his eyelids, the one with the magnificent smile bracketed by tear trails, the one that told him he loved him, that he’d changed him, that it was goodbye—

Dean braced himself one finger at a time, resting them on the warm skin of Castiel’s cheeks, then on his cheekbone and on rough stubble. 

Cas sucked in a breath and his lips twitched into a smile Dean knew he couldn’t help. The smile trembled as if hesitant to enjoy this, but Dean’s thumb rested finally, brushing the subtle curve under Cas’ lip, finding a home in the dip of his chin, stroking.

“Can I—uh—” Dean’s voice was hoarse, his throat parched. His mouth opened and closed, nerves taking the air in his lungs captive. “Cas, I…”

One of Cas’ rough hands came up and slid over the back of Dean’s, his hot palm seeming to brace him, too, because he leaned forward and inhaled Dean’s soft exhale. 

They kissed.

Soft. Light.

Their lips barely touched. 

“I love you,” Dean whispered.

He felt Castiel’s eyes close against his cheek as Cas leaned away from the table, pressing deeper into Dean’s palms, his mouth sliding open and kissing Dean deeper.

Still soft, still light. 

Dean felt like he was on fire but in the best way possible. Heat radiated from his chest in shuddering wavelengths through his body, and as Castiel tilted his head and dared to deepen the kiss, to spread his lips and by virtue Dean’s, sparks burst behind his eyes. It was sappy, and wonderful and fuck everything, because this was theirs. 

Castiel’s other hand must’ve uncurled from the table’s edge as well, because the minimal space between them disappeared as Cas’ hand on the small of Dean’s back pulled him closer. Dean’s arms were trapped against Cas’ chest, his hands still holding his face, and he wanted to never be anywhere else, never wanted his hips to not be pressing against Cas’. He never wanted to exist in any other way because they’d fucking earned this. They’d done their waiting, their dancing around, their soft stolen glances and moments Dean didn’t dare look into.

Cas’ tongue brushed the skin on the inside of Dean’s lip when Dean opened his mouth and while he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, his breath hitched, the heat in his chest exploding in sparks, and he felt his eyes water, tears nestling in his interwoven lashes. 

“I can’t believe—” Castiel’s speech was interrupted as Dean refused to stop kissing him, planting wet kisses on the corner of his mouth and the supple curve of his bottom lip— “B-Believe this is happening.”

“We are real,” Dean breathed in a rasping gasp against Cas’ mouth, reclaiming those lips entirely, panting hard. “We a-are—” A soft peck. “—real.”

“I love you,” Castiel chattered, his teeth clicking together like he was freezing despite his hand burning hot on Dean’s back, holding them together. But Dean got it; the adrenaline, the intensity, the scorching _something_ between them that they _finally, finally_ got to lean into, to embrace. It was consuming.

Dean laughed a little against Cas’ lips, and experienced tingling all over his body when Cas laughed back, their faces pulling apart so they could hold each other's gaze. Dean was certain that he was staring back at Cas with the same consuming happiness, with the same tear-slick pair of eyes brightened by the dawning realisation that this was their first taste of true freedom.

Dean’s smile slid off his face slowly. 

“I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, lifting a hand to drag it over Cas’ face gently, like he was frightened breaking contact with his skin would make Cas fade away, disintegrate into ash, pour through his fingers. “Not again.”

“And I you,” Castiel replied. 

They kissed.

Soft.

Then firmer.

More desperate, more intensely. 

Dean’s hands slid from Cas’ face as their head turned and tilted, their noses bumping and then settling against each other’s cheeks. Dean’s palms pressed against Cas’ chest, feeling desperately for that strong heartbeat. Dean found it, and discovered that it was thumping fast, if a bit wildly.

Good, because Dean had a wild heart too and it was going to burst if—

He slid his hands under the trenchcoat, hands trailing over the sturdy lapels of Cas’ blazer for a moment, before he rushed headlong after that burst of bravery and moved his hands up, cupping around Cas’ shoulders and sliding the coat down his arms.

Against his mouth, Cas stilled and for a brief second of suspended time, Dean thought he’d been too bold, moved too fast. They’ve only been in love for nearly twelve years, but they’d only known for twelve hours. Cas’d hardly been back from the Empty for two hours, maybe he needed a second to breathe—

The trenchcoat slipped away from the back of Dean’s hands, hitting the floor with the sound of rustling fabric, puddling around their shoes, and Cas pulled away from their kiss to stare at Dean, his brows knitted but eyes on fire. 

“You want...this?” Castiel croaked, eyes darting around the kitchen, passing on the doorway. _You want to do this in the kitchen?_

Dean swallowed—the sound so fucking loud. “Sam’s in his room. With Eileen,” he added after clearing his throat, his voice a rough, gravelly mess.

Cas’ gaze fell back on Dean’s and as usual, the weight of the world seemed to rest heavily in the stare. Although for the first time, it wasn’t the weight of the entire world, but a new one they were forging entirely on their own. 

The angel—now freshly human, thanks to the Empty—rolled his shoulders and lifted his hands off Dean.

The blazer joined the trenchcoat. 

Seeming to forget how his own hands worked, Dean let them fall to his sides, and all he could do was watch in hopeless, enamoured, aroused wonder as Cas slowly undressed the plaid flannel button-up off Dean’s shoulders too, never breaking eye contact. He looked unsure and Dean didn’t blame him; they’d spent a lot of their life together pretending there wasn’t fire and ice and hot-cold _something_ between them. They were entirely new to openly acknowledging that it was a profound love story.

They toed off their shoes together, and Cas let Dean unbuckle his belt, and watched with wide, curious eyes as Dean slowly slid the trousers off his hips. Cas seemed oblivious to the way Dean was shaking, his hands trembling as his fingers curled around the elastic of Cas’ boxer-briefs to tug them down over his thighs. Cas didn’t seem to mind when Dean’s hands continued to shake when he took off his own jeans, lowering them and his boxers just enough to have access. 

And when their lips met next, it was in-sync to Cas sliding back on the edge of the table, the back of his bare hips coming up easy onto the wood. His white button-up shirt was untucked now, free, puddling around his hips, and Dean felt the creases in the fabric when his hand passed over them on the way down to—

“I’m nervous,” Dean admitted in a puff of air, pausing, his forehead anchored on Cas, breaking their kiss. “I don’t know how...how to do this with _you_.”

Silence clung to every corner and surface of the kitchen. The bunker was courteous enough to hum the quietest it ever has around them.

Cas’ warm thumb came up and brushed Dean’s lip, his eyes watching it intently, curiously, with admiration as if it was astonishing. Maybe he was amazed he was even able to touch Dean that way—Dean certainly felt that in return.

“How do you typically make love?” Castiel asked bluntly, tilting his head, still watching Dean’s lip and the way it opened to his touch willingly at the slightest pressure. With a small nod seemingly to himself, Cas added, “How have you done this with people you cared for? Loved?”

Dean couldn’t help it, he leaned his face away for a second. Cas’ hand lingered in the air, and Cas’ looked up at Dean with a peculiar surprised small smile on his lips, crooked, amused, full of wonder.

“You think I’ve been with someone I loved as much as...as I, y’know—” Dean shrugged his shoulders, nodding his chin towards Castiel. Idiot angel still didn’t get it. “You think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone else? Cas, you’re a moron.”

The wondrous, amused smile on Cas’ lips spread and his eyes twinkled. Shit. He was beautiful. 

“I don’t know how to do this with you because it’s _you_ , not because it’s...” Dean waved a hand vaguely, feeling stupid but not having words to sum up what he was feeling, what existed between them. 

Maybe the words existed in Enochian.

Although, judging by the look on Cas’ face, those words didn’t exist in Enochian either.

“I understand,” Cas said from his perch on the edge of the kitchen table. His hands came up and pulled Dean forward by the cotton of his t-shirt. 

If he was being honest, if he was going to do this like he ‘typically made love’ to people, Cas would’ve been pushed onto his back on the kitchen table, looking up at Dean while Dean spread his legs or slid his hand under the gaps between buttons in the shirt. Dean would reach down and curl his hands under Cas’ knees and yank him closer to the edge of the table. He’d touch him where it counted with spit on his palm and a few filthy moves of his wrist. He’d fuck up the hair on the back of Cas’ head from fucking him across the table, and he’d come with Cas’ legs around his waist.

But Castiel was not anyone. He was anything but typical. 

Castiel was everything, and he had changed Dean. 

Castiel was selfless, and brave, and caring, and loving. 

This was not a fuck in the kitchen, this was Castiel, Fallen Angel of the Lord. This was Cas, Dean’s best friend, the love of his life, the piece of his soul that he'd been aching for. 

Cas was his person. His.

And he was Cas’.

Cas saw Dean as he wanted to be seen, and what Cas was too blind to see was that when he looked in Dean’s eyes and saw the most good, caring, most loving man he’d ever met, what he was seeing was just a reflection of himself.

But of course, Cas wouldn’t see that. So Dean would do it for him.

Stepping between Castiel’s knees, their torso flush, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders and ribs, and held him. Cas didn’t complain or protest, or question what or why. Because Cas was Cas, who didn’t care if something was normal. Cas just cared what was right, and what felt right. 

It felt right to hold him. 

Dean buried his face into Cas’ neck, and inhaled his human scent, familiar despite his mortality. Still lightening, still rain, still vaguely like the scent of the Impala. Cas turned his face and rested his cheek on the curve of Dean’s neck. 

Dean could feel him smiling. And he felt the little hiccup of Cas’ shoulders as Cas laughed quietly, the sound indicating nothing else but ‘ _I am happy’._

After a considerate moment, Dean lifted his head and swallowed that laugh, kissed that smile and took those dimpled, grinning cheeks in his hands. Their laughs mingled and their tears were brushed away by each others’ caring hands. 

And their hands eventually ventured where they both knew they’d eventually go. Cas rubbed his palm over Dean’s cock in his boxers and gifted Dean’ with the rumble of his throat against his lips when he kissed under his ear and down the curved slope to his shoulders. He learned that Cas liked to be stroked steadily but softly, and shivered when Dean brushed his fingers over the inside of his thighs or in the dimples of his back.

Dean learned that Cas knew perfectly well how to work his nipples under his shirt—he did rebuild him, Dean realised. Cas probably knew exactly how everything about him worked. 

As always.

After they fumbled for coconut oil from the pantry—a silly but welcome break from the intensity of the moment—Dean did eventually slide inside Cas, holding him on the edge of the table. He whispered unintelligible things into his mouth, but also _“I got you, I got you,”_ and _“I’m here. Not goin’ anywhere.”_ And Cas clung to him as he did to Cas. 

There were no sexy angles and position switching. The moment was about them, and their connection. The feeling of being intertwined, interwoven… It was...transcendental. Nothing he’d ever experienced or cared to experience with anyone else. The feeling of Cas’ spine curling under his palm made Dean feel drunk. Hell, if his vision swam at all, he might’ve thought he was drunk, but the truth was he had never seen more clearly in his life. He held Cas’ gaze, kept his eyes on his face, on his sweating skin, his patchy flush, on the beads of perspiration tumbling down his temple. Cas’ lips were wet and red from kissing. 

Their eyes were a bit red and wet, too, but Dean had not a single second to spare caring about that. 

When Cas came, his fingertips dug into Dean’s shoulder and words tumbled from his lips in a language not from this plane of existence. His moan was beautiful and the hitched breaths he took made Dean follow his orgasm almost immediately. He poured into him, burying himself as deep as he could, and he nearly forgot to breathe, also giving all of himself to a kiss that carried them both through it.

Typically, he would pull out, roll over, put on his clothing, pay his tab, get in his car, never call back. The usual. 

Castiel was not the usual. 

They held each other for a long time, breathing hard, sweating, shaking. Dean held Cas against his collar, his fingers running through damp curling hair on the nape of the angel’s neck. Cas’ heavy breaths puffed against his skin, leaving it damp and hot.

It took the entirety of his comedown for Dean to notice that Cas had begun to cry. He pulled away just enough to give Cas a little shake. His stomach dropped.

“You okay? C-Cas—”

Cas lifted his head, his hand pressed to his mouth as he laughed into it, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deep. Dean could hardly see his brilliant blue eyes, they were so narrowed in joy.

“I-It’s okay, Dean. I’m okay.”

Dean blinked, hand sliding from the side of Cas’ head to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Then what the hell?”

Cas lowered his hand into his lap, running his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes glittering serenely. He looked like he had before...before the Empty took him.

“I am happy,” Castiel said.

Dean groaned, tension melting off of him. He leaned forward and rested heavily on Cas, who caught him with open arms and an amused snort. 

Despite nearly giving him a heart attack, Dean hugged Cas back as his arms came up around him.

“Me too, Cas.” Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s shoulder, brushing his nose over the soft white cotton. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know in the comments what you thought of this fic, and feel free to wail unendingly about DESTIEL IS CANON (MOTHERFUCKERRRRS) because I am doing that right now (and always).
> 
> Also, if you're in the market for a longer fix-it fic for 15.20 (lol aren't we all??), I just recently posted [The Weight of Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762622/chapters/67960003). Check it out! Hopefully it helps mend your heart after the finale(s).


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